


In A Name

by Not_A_Valid_Opinion



Series: Icarus knew how high he could fly and still, he went higher [5]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, a series of shots in dirk's life, angsty im sorry, assistent and mona are mentioned, blackwing fallout, blackwing wont ever let dirk go and dirk knows this, but i dont go into it, dirk is growing up, farah and todd are implied to be together in this, happy ending tho this boy deserves it, he's not a kid anymore, long fic, this guy really just needs a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 09:41:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14186139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_A_Valid_Opinion/pseuds/Not_A_Valid_Opinion
Summary: Years after escaping Blackwing, and still, Dirk knows he'll never be free of them.He just wishes the universe would stop reminding him of that.(Or: A series of connected snippets in Dirk's life as he finally becomes the detective he dreamed of being.)





	In A Name

**Author's Note:**

> ahh,,,,,I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!!!!!!  
> God I said I'd be done with this chapter ages ago wow I,,, SUck. Anyway somethings 2 note:  
> \- these are all like mini one-shots that connect into each other, progressing as Dirk progresses as a character. I've had to cut out pieces of this chapter because it was extra or made it too long, so if it feels choppy I'mmm sorry lol I was trying for a divided feel and forgot u can't divide by 0  
> -I do know ASL so I'm pretty sure I was accurate in what I wrote but I also can't ever be sure of anything, especially WRITING ASL as opposed 2 using it. SO if I made a mistake pls tell me I don't want 2 sound ignorant   
> -Farah! We never did find out how Dirk knew her to begin with and it was ALLUDED in the show he met her through PS so I just went with that and twisted it a bit  
> -This is meant to be connected to my series but is okay to read as just this, though it might make more sense to read as part of the series? IDK it's your life  
> -I'm so sad this show got cancelled i feel like I'm the one that got cancelled. It's part of the reason this took so long to write.  
> -I'm going to stop writing this note now. Enjoy the fic lol sorry it's so long and doesn't have as much of an overarch as my other stories in this series, I just wanted this to be more focused on character and the passage of time than anything

Dirk had, at this point, decided he’d quite like to become a detective. 

It started with a lizard in a shoe, then evolved into finding a married couple’s lost Beagle. He’d found three kidnapped kittens, accidentally broken a giraffe’s leg (there was no upside to this scenario), and gotten one stray and possibly wild frog a new home- when he was a kid, he’d bring people lost pets all the time, randomly stumbling upon them at exactly the right moment. This had prompted an old forgotten neighbour to refer to him, jokingly, as psychic around his parents (something they’d been too scared to propose themselves) and indirectly caused a chain reaction spawning a childhood of misery. Despite this, Dirk had forgotten just how important it made him feel to return a lost pet to a distressed owner. 

“You remind me of Ace Ventura,” said one happily reunited pet owner. 

“I don’t know who that is, but thank you, ma’am,” Dirk had responded. 

“He’s a fictional pet detective. Finds peoples lost pets, saves the day, that sort of thing,” she’d explained, and Dirk said nothing for so long the woman awkwardly placed the money in his hand and closed the door to her house on him. 

_ Pet Detective.  _

The title swam around his head like static, crackling and shocking its way through his mind. He steps away from the lady’s steps, tasting the words in his mouth, both brilliant and bitter. 

_ Dirk the Pet Detective.  _

Dirk liked how that sounded. 

But it was missing something.

  
  


“Gently.” 

The word came to him during the night, in a run-down motel room, in a bed he felt unclean laying in. 

It had been a long day. He’d done nothing productive and had spent the whole day shaking off a nightmare- he’d woken up in a sweat on a park bench, silently crying and hating himself. The rest of the day had been spent walking nowhere quickly, as though he were trying to outrun his dream, the  _ screams-  _

It had started to rain and Dirk kept walking, pulling his orange hood over his slowly growing in hair (a nice old lady on a park bench had given him a haircut) and shoving his hands in his pockets. He’d eventually rented a motel room and sat on the edge of the bed, wondering if the germs in the room were more dangerous than Priest’s hands wrapped around a gun (or a knife or a throat or-) and he ran to the bathroom and threw up. 

So there he was, dark of night replacing the rainy day that had been there just moments before, in a bed he felt unclean laying in. 

Then he got up. Pulled off the blankets, watched them crumple to the floor, suddenly very angry. He grabbed his backpack at the side of his bed and rummaged around inside of it. Finding what he’d wanted, he laid himself back on the bed, then pulled the warm, knitted quilt over him. It was shorter than him now- he’d grown quite a bit since the Rowdies had placed it over him in their van- and now it only reached to his knees. He curled his body so his entirety fit underneath, which probably wasn’t good for his back, and squeezed the squeaky toy that carried life. It let out a loud, aching noise, and Dirk held it to his chest gently, wrapped in a quilt that he was getting too big for. 

It was perfect. 

It was clean and warm and safe and gentle. 

Gentle, something Priest never was, something Riggins pretended to be. 

Gentle, like his mother’s hands and father’s words before his old forgotten neighbour jokingly suggested he might be psychic and his parents finally had a word to blame his behaviour on, as though it were a sickness, as though he were contagious as they slowly became more and more afraid of him. 

Gentle, like the flap of Mona’s butterfly wings or the soft breathing of Moloch on those rare but good visitation days. 

Gentle, like those two woman seen once on the park bench adjacent to his, who held each other close, head resting on heart. They’d sat there, curled up and smiling softly, for hours. Dirk had left to grab a tea from the shop down the street and returned to sleep on the bench for the night, and they were still there, one clearly asleep and the other watching the sun fall. 

_ The world can be so cruel,  _ Dirk thinks to himself, hearing his own breathing slow as he relaxes under the quilt.  _ I don’t want to be cruel. I want to be someone who reminds others that the world can be gentle, too.  _

The world had never been very kind to Dirk. 

Dirk. 

He chose that name because it was a weapon used to save a life, a reminder that good things happened to others even while bad things happened to him. It was safety; powerful, strong, and sympathetic. It was there when it was needed most, had a job that it performed, and saved a life that deserved to be saved.  

_ A dirk is a weapon of love, _ Dirk decides.  _ But weapons are dangerous. Weapons can kill. Weapons take away. I want to give. I want to be gentle.  _

A dirk that is gentle. 

Dirk Gently. 

Dirk smiles to himself and lets himself fall asleep. When he wakes up, he knows who he is. 

  
  
  


Dirk Gently decides, after taking a case revolving around finding a lost cat and accidentally stumbling across three dead bodies, that he did not appreciate the interrogation room offered by the enforcers of the law. 

Because apparently, when asked how he found the bodies and why he was holding a cat, responding with  _ the universe told me to find a cat and I technically did  _ was, to some extent, suspicious. And then again when the police requested his identity and he tells them his name, which is, of course, not a legal name- things like these may been seen as suspicious, he sees now, sitting in the room with a window he can’t see through and seated at a metal desk that reminds him of Blackwing. He drums his fingers along the desk anxiously, wrists handcuffed, waiting impatiently for somebody to come in. His gaze keeps sweeping to the door and back, half expecting it to swing open and see Riggins and his peace-keeping smile that breaks his heart. 

When somebody does finally come through the door, Dirk all but flinches before he realizes that this woman is wearing a blue uniform, full of yellow badges and black stripes. Full of  _ colour.  _

Everything about Riggins had been devoid of colour. 

The woman sits in the seat across from him. She says nothing for a moment, leans into the chair and regards him. Her stare is not assessing, merely curious, if distrusting. Dirk smiles at her, trying to calm his heart. She isn’t Riggins. She  _ isn’t.  _

“Dirk… Gently?” She says slowly, like she’s tasting the words in her mouth, and Dirk’s eyes are full of wonder as he nods. The woman makes a face in response, letting out a hum. “Dirk. Is that your legal name, Dirk?” 

“Um,” he says at a high pitch, “I mean… it’s my name.” 

“The name you legally have on your birth certificate?” 

“Um,” he says at a high pitch, “yeee….no. No, I suppose it isn’t.” 

The woman smiles politely. “What’s your legal name, then, Dirk?” 

Dirk shrinks down in his seat. “Am I gonna be arrested for not giving it? Because it's not that I’ve ever done anything really all that offensive in the eyes of the law as I understand them, because really I haven’t. I mean, I’ve done  _ some  _ things but only certain and non-obtrusive things. I mean, there was one time that this mans car got destroyed  _ technically  _ at my hands but that was an accident.”

A pause, a sigh, and the woman straightens her back. “My name is Officer Brady. See how I just told you my name? When you refuse to share a real, non-falsified name, which is a crime in itself, at the literal scene of a crime- well, it draws connections to you and the three bodies you were found with. You’re going to answer a few questions for me, and if you don’t answer them honestly and  _ legally correct,  _ then we’re going to have to hold you here. Do you have a lawyer you need to talk to about all of this?” 

Dirk shakes his head. 

“Okay. Where are you from, Dirk?” 

“Oh, um, London, I do believe. I think I was born in Romania, though, we left before I learned the language all that well.” 

“What were you doing with those bodies?” 

“... Looking for a cat? By the way, I kind of still need that cat. Not sure where you put it…” 

“Whose cat is it? Yours?” 

“Oh, no, I actually simply saw a lost pet photo of it and was going to return it to its owners.” 

The officer glares daggers, and Dirk feels tremendously absurd in his situation. She shifts the files in her hands, thinking for a moment, before leaning into her papers. “You didn’t steal this cat and murder those people by any chance, did you?” 

Dirk’s face pales. “Good heavens, no.” 

She hums, then stands up. “I’ll be back,” she tells him before walking out of the room, and Dirk merely nods, tightly biting his lips, in response. 

It can't have been longer than fifteen minutes when the door opens again, but its not Officer Bradey this time. No, this time, a man in a dark suit enters. “You’re free to go,” says the man, walking over to him and unlocking his handcuffs. 

“Who are you?” Dirk asks, a pit in his stomach as he gets the feeling that something is very, very wrong. “Where’s Officer-” 

“I have higher authority than this facility. I’m with the CIA. Now, let's go,” the man orders, grabbing Dirks arm and leading him out of the room. Dirk is passive aggressively dragged down the corridors and out of the building, but not before catching a glimpse of Officer Brady, who seemed to be arguing with two men in the same dark outfits as the man pulling Dirk out of the building. 

Once outside, the man turns to face him. “It’s in your best interest to stay low, Svlad,” he starts, and Dirk freezes, his whole body tense, “Just because our facility is shut down doesn’t mean we need you were we’ll have to make a fuss to get you from. We catch you doing something stupid like this again, there may be real repercussions.” 

With that, the man turns away, and the two men who were berading Officer Brady moments earlier pass Dirk on the steps. One of their shoulder’s clip his, and Dirk is shoved forward, barely catching himself as he snaps his way out of shock. The men all enter the most suspicious looking white van Dirk has ever seen in his life, worse than the Rowdy van, and drive away. Dirk’s eyes follow them down the road, wide eyes watching the spot it disappeared long after it was already gone. 

  
  


Absentmindedly, Dirk scratched behind the ears of the poodle puppy, which was heavy in his arms and whose fluffy head was beginning to make him sneeze. Dirk shifts the poodle’s weight in his arms, looking down to the lost dog flyer in his hand and re-reading the address before checking the house he’d arrived too without paying too much attention to anything other than trying not to sneeze. Realizing he was at the right place, he started up the steps. 

After a moment of waiting post-knock, he was face to face with a young boy, who stared at the dog in Dirk’s arms with wide eyes. 

The boy made a squealing sound and grabbed for the dog, barely noticing the young man holding the dog to begin with. 

“Hi, oh,” Dirk starts awkwardly as the child tries to grab the dog, “so this is your- okay, she’s really quite heavy, though, did you want help, or-” 

The kid looks up at him, then back the the dog, stepping back almost shyly. He gestured to himself before he formed a snap at his hip to an extended movement from the chin out and towards Dirk. The boy was smiling, his eyes wide, and began to pet the dog in Dirk’s arms excitedly. 

Dirk, confused, found himself recognizing the movement, and sounded it out to himself in his head. 

It took at least a minute of just standing there, but he realized what the boy was saying.

MY  _ DOG-THANK YOU-FIND  _

_ Thank you for finding my dog!  _

Dirk smiles uncertainly, hoping he was correct (he’d recognized ASL from years ago- so, so long ago, it felt like- but really only recognized the indexes, the word dog (what was her name again? Oh, that’s right.  _ Sadie _ )) and thank you. 

“Um,” he starts, wondering if he should sign his statement or just say it. “Right. You’re welcome!” 

He couldn’t remember how to sign the word WELCOME so he ended up just giving the boy a thumbs up, struggling to hold the dog still in his grasp. The boy seemed to notice this and opened the door wider, allowing Dirk inside, who smiled gratefully and, once the door was closed behind him, placed the dog down. 

Instantly, the poodle shot over to the child, running into his arms as the kid laughed and ruffled his fur with one arm. Dirk stepped out of the way to give them space, looking around the house curiously. The front door lead to the kitchen of which was rather empty. On the fridge was a single drawing- a rather bad one, Dirk noted- of a bird. It had no colouring on its head or body, but on it’s one extended wing was dark, black shading that worked as a choppy silhouette. 

From behind Dirk, the boy knocked on the table to get his attention. He was holding out a wad of cash and smiling brightly. In no position to refuse payment, Dirk took it with a THANK YOU. He turned back to the drawing at the fridge before pointing at it, thinking for a moment, and asking DRAW-YOU-DID? 

The boy nodded, said something Dirk completely missed (just how long  _ had  _ it been?), and then took a few steps further into his house- his thumbs knotted together and gesticulated in the direction of the hall, where the kid then disappeared. 

FOLLOW.  

Dirk pockets the cash and follows. 

Both the kid and the poodle lead Dirk into the living room, where the kid opens a binder laid out on a dining table centred near the middle of the room but pushed closer towards the couches for easy use. It seemed very cozy, almost homely, to watch the poodle hop on the couch and pant peacefully, the boy’s eyes flipping happily between his pet and the binder of which he was slowly flipping through. Dirk allowed himself to sit on the couch next to the poodle, leaning forwards to look through the pages being tossed aside. 

They were drawings, some of birds (most, actually) and others of humans. Oddly, though, the humans also had darkly shaded wings extending from them. Most pages were flipped, as though the kid was looking for something specific. As they flipped, Dirk saw cats, dogs, a shark, a frog, and even a  _ rainbow  _ with darkly shaded wings. There were numerous people, some blue, some green, some clearly not human but still clearly people. Or maybe the kid was just bad at drawing. They were pretty sloppily coloured, and the lines were uneven, as though someone’s hands were shaking while they drew them. Clearly the work of a child, evidently  _ this  _ child, Dirk tried to keep an open mind as the kid finally found the page he was looking for and unclipped it from the binder, handing it to Dirk, who took it with a smile. 

It was of a cross. It had, of course, the same dark wings as all of the other drawings- only, more. It had numerous wings, some attached to the cross, others attached to wings attached to the cross. The cross itself was pure white, but the edges were red and… dripping. Onto a mess of red and white at the bottom of the page. That Dirk could only assume was meant to be fire. He looked up at the kid, at a loss, but the kid was watching his own lap with particular interest. 

“Oh,” Dirk says, expecting no response from the boy, who turned to look at him anyway. “Yes, I supposes it’s only right I walk into something like this. What, um…. What is this, exactly?” 

The kid does not respond. 

Dirk does not know the sign for WHAT, or at the very least, does not recall. Instead he fingerspells, eyebrows lifted, W-H-A-T and points to the cross. 

The boy signs a word Dirk does not recognize. Noting his confusion, he fingerspells as well. 

U-N-C-L-E- O-S-M-U-N-D

Osmund. 

As in Osmund Priest. 

As in this boy’s  _ uncle _ Osmund Priest. 

Dirk puckers his lips before sighing and looking back at the drawing, at the shaded wings, the  _ black  _ wings. 

“Sounds about right,” he says pitifully to himself before handing the drawing back to the child.

The boy takes it back hesitantly, noting Dirk’s expression, which Dirk could only imagine was a mixture of shattered and taped back together. 

Dirk wraps the child in a hug, holding him for however long it takes, before running the hell away. 

  
  


“Dirk Gently?” a voice calls from behind him, and Dirk spins around in surprise. It’s a woman, someone he’d never met before. She’s wearing a black leather jacket and checking over her shoulder anxiously as she literally power walks towards him. Dirk would be intimidated if he wasn’t so surprised someone had used his actual name. 

“Hi?” he greets, turning to face the woman. 

“Here,” she says curtly, handing him a phone. He blinks, hesitantly taking it. 

“Um, sorry, who are you?” 

The woman smiles, but its a tight smile, a distrusting smile. Her eyes are hard, somehow both worn down and full of life. Dirk wonders if this woman has ever untensed her shoulders. “Farah Black,” she introduces curtly, then takes a breath, as though pushing through a script, “the phone is a gift from a man named Patrick Spring. Its unlocked. The- phone, I mean. I don’t know what’s on it, but he said you were a detective and he needed you to solve a case for him,” she explained, looking him over with uncertainty. Dirk, unsure of what to do, smiles. Then the more he realizes what's happening, the wider his smile gets. 

“Wait, am I being hired? To solve an  _ actual _ case?” he asks excitedly. 

Farah watches him suspiciously. “I don’t know you or really, frankly, trust you. I don’t know why he wants you to help him instead of me. He knows I am… plenty capable. I can handle myself, and I can handle him,” she says, mostly to herself, and Dirk isn’t sure what to really do in this situation. He’s never been approached for a case, has always been the one running to people and doing what he could for them. 

“I… I’m sure he trusts you plenty. Maybe he just needs someone to look at this case more… holistically? I can do holistic, you know, very well. Dirk Gently, holistic detective. Sounds great, doesn’t it?” 

“... Uh huh… Where’d you train to be a detective, Dirk?” she asks, and Dirk gets the feeling this woman doesn’t trust very easily. 

“Oh, here and there, really. So the case information is on this phone? Oh, this is really quite well, actually. It’s been really nice meeting you, Farah!” Dirk exclaims, extending his hand to shake hers, which she takes hesitantly and grips so painfully that Dirk winces. 

“Nice to meet you, Dirk. Oh, and,” she reaches into her purse and pulls out an envelope. She hands it over, and Dirk takes it quizzically. “He’ll call you.” 

With that, she walks back the way she came from, leaving Dirk standing on the sidewalk, holding a phone that he had no clue how to use and carrying an oddly heavy envelope. Curious, he shifts the phone in his hand and opens the envelope, addressed to him, to  _ Dirk Gently.  _

Dirk nearly faints when he sees the wads of hundred dollar bills. 

  
  


Todd, Dirk thinks, is quite possibly the best thing that has ever happened to him. 

Of course, Todd makes it quite obvious Dirk is invariably the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, but at this point in Dirk’s life, he’s just glad to have someone around who isn’t trying to kill and/or kidnap him. Of course, just because that makes his standards for friends incredibly low doesn’t mean that Todd is a low standard- as a matter of fact, Todd is an incredibly apt assistant, and a wonderful person. 

Farah, too. She is amazing, incredibly strong, and admirably smart. After Farah gave him an insurmountable amount of cash, Dirk used it to buy an abundance of colourful, lively jackets. He also bought hair gel, something he was excited to try- it was a nice kind, too, recommended from a barber when he went in for a proper, professional haircut. In the envelope that contained so,  _ so  _ much money to the point where Dirk wondered if he was heading into something shady was a set of car keys and in the phone we're directions to the- holy shit, the nicest, bluest car he’d ever seen in his life. He wasn’t really sure how to drive, and spent the rest of the day fucking around with the controls in the deserted parking lot he’d found it in, trying to teach himself. He booked a hotel room, then a day later, after reading up on the case based on the instructions in the phone (which were strange and alarming, to say the least) he bought the apartment just above Todd’s. Though Farah seemed pretty distrusting at first, she seems to have warmed up to the idea of him, even though it was mostly likely just situational desperation. 

Amanda is probably the funnest person Dirk knows. Being with her was always nice. Her illness seemed to be a real struggle for her, but she seemed to enjoy being in his company, if only because he suggested she stop living life in fear of what’s inside of her. He didn’t think she’d take it so literally, but just having her here was proof that he’d actually helped her, if somewhat indirectly. 

The three of them are all there, discussing the case, and Dirk feels truly proud of who he is. He’s a detective, a real one, not just a pet detective (though he supposes there is a corgi and a cat and possibly a shark related to this case, so maybe still a pet detective, in a sense). Then he remembers the magic light bulb, and leaves the comfort of his new friends to go grab it. 

And comes face to face with Riggins. 

And Dirk’s world shatters, and he freezes, he yells, and he thinks he might be crying but can’t tell if any tears actually fell from his eyes, knows he can’t cry, not at his hands, not _ again. _

Mind frozen, numb, screaming, silent- Dirk exits the building. He stops out of eyesight, catches a breath he didn’t recall holding and clenches his fists, nails digging into palms to keep himself grounded. 

His eyes are wet, but he does not cry. He does not move, or freeze, or break. His body shakes, but he is not cold. He stands there, breathing, back to the building containing his best friends and his worst nightmares.

His legs feel as though they’re walking on air and guide him away, each step shaky and never making contact with the ground. He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t stop, doesn’t look back. 

He ends up passing the car he’d meant to grab the magic bulb from; unable to stop, he’s carried by an absence of wind in a direction he doesn’t choose.

Riggins. God,  _ Riggins.  _

Dirk can feel his nails pierce his skin, leaving it raw and exposed, and he thinks he makes a noise, but its so pitifully small he can’t hear it. His eyes are wet, but he doesn’t cry, can’t cry.  

He will  _ not  _ cry. 

He… 

Dirk- Svlad-  _ Dirk-  _

His hands release themselves and extend to his forehead, cradling his thoughts like wounds. He sucks in deep, his chest rattling as his whole body quivers, each step he takes a blur of movement. 

Svlad. He  _ wasn’t  _ Svlad, he will not let them make him Svlad, will not be reduced to Svlad. That part of him was dead, selfish, scared, sobbing. 

He was Dirk Gently. He was a Holistic Detective, he was on a case, he- 

Oh. The case. He stops walking, and his feet touch the ground again. Looking around himself, he realizes he’s only gone in a circle, and made it to the back of the Ridgely building, though he didn’t mean to make it back so soon. 

He takes a moment. Breathes in, breathes out; his name is an anchor, a weapon, a reason. Riggins is the past. Riggins… 

Blackwing would never leave him alone, would they? They’d been watching him- who knows how long for? They wanted him to come back. They  _ asked  _ him to come back. 

Dirk had said no. They won’t let him say no.  _ Oh, God, what if- if they hurt Todd, or Amanda, or Farah?  _

Terrified, he runs around to the front of the building, forcing open the entrance and faltering slightly at the absence of Riggins and his goon. They’d gone. Or had they? What if they’d gone up and had Todd, had Amanda, had- 

“Dirk?” 

Dirk’s thoughts halt, and he realizes he’s breathing too quickly despite not having run very far. He looks up. Todd is at the top of the stairs, watching him. 

Dirk lets out a shaky breath and breaks out into a smile. He’s okay. If he’s okay, all of his friends were, Riggins had left for now, he was okay, they were okay. They were okay. His friends were okay. 

“Yes, Todd?” He asks, voice a bit squeakier and slightly flickering. He clears his throat, tries to look less stiff in the doorframe. “What can I do for you?” 

Todd stares down at him with odd eyes. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Dirk wonders if his hands are shaking, shoves them behind his back to hide them incase they were. Riggins was gone, so Todd was in no danger, so there was no need to alarm him. 

“Um,” he starts, his voice blank but clearly hesitant, “you were gone for a… I just thought I’d see if you were okay,” he finishes, eyes never leaving Dirk, who smiles brightly at him, heading up the stairs to join him. 

“Oh yes, doing quite swell, just enjoying the… weather.” 

Todd makes a small grunt noise, possibly a scoff, and Dirk reaches him at the top of the stairs. “Well, did you get the lightbulb?” 

Dirk blinks. “I beg your- oh! Oh, drat, no, I com _ pletely _ forgot, what with how… nice the weather is, out there. I- I’ll be right back!” 

“Dirk,” Todd’s voice halts him as he turns to head back down the steps. It’s something about the way he says his name that holds him back, returns his eyes to his. If Dirk was being perfectly candid with himself, which he wasn’t sure he should be in his state, he’d dare to think there was some concern in those faded blue eyes. “Do you… need help? Getting the bulb?” 

The detective blinks, then breaks out into a smile he quickly shoves away with modesty. Todd looks awkward, waiting for a response, and Dirk clasps his hands together to keep him from grabbing Todd’s hands and dragging him to the car with him. Instead, he nods neatly and starts down the steps. 

When he hears soft steps behind him, he knows he’s stopped shaking. 

  
  


A tap nudges his side, and his head spins away from the map to find Todd standing there, a cold beer can extended his way. 

“Do you drink?” he asks, and Dirk blinks, then opens his mouth to answer without having a real answer. He closes it upon realizing this, pauses and repeated Todd’s question in his head.  

“Do-do I  _ drink?  _ Like, to survive? Yes, Todd, we all do,” he responds slowly, confused as to what Todd was looking for in an answer. The smaller man stares at him for a moment, then retracts the hand with the can. A frown flickers across his face, as though he were just as lost as Dirk, and his eyes flicker to Farah, who stares at Dirk as though he’d grown another head. 

“No, Dirk, he means do you drink  _ alcohol,”  _ Farah breaks down tersely, her eyes incredulous. 

“Oh. Oh! Okay, yes, no, well. I haven’t had alcohol since I was, um-” 

 

_ “What’s this?” he twists the can around in his hand, going instinctively to open the tab when a voice screams PLEASE AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS BEFORE COMPLETING AN ATTEMPT from above him so loud he still flinches after all this time. He puts it down in a hurry, and the bottom clanks against the metal table, the noise drowned out by faceless words. After a moment of silence following the outburst, he tries again, clearing his throat; “I don’t drink soda, if that’s what this is. Too sugary, my mother used to say.” _

_ The man in the seat ahead of him smiles sweetly. “It’s not pop, Svlad. This is alcohol.”  _

_ Svlad blinks dumbly. “I’m not old enough to drink alcohol. Am I?”  _

_ “That doesn’t matter here. We want to know how it will affect your abilities. Try it.”  _

_ He knew better than to argue, at this point. He hesitantly opens the tab, and when no scolding surrounds him, he takes a sip. He flinches at the carbonation and puts the can down, struggling to swallow.  _

_ “Ugh, that tastes right nasty. Who drinks this stuff?”  _

_ “You do. The whole thing, Svlad.”  _

_  He does. It takes him just under an hour. The can is very tall and its contents gradually get less and less disgusting as he gets used to the taste. He finishes the can feeling warm.  _

_ “Good boy. How do you feel?”  _

_ “A bit light.”  _

_ Riggins pulls another tall can out from his sweater. He hands it over. Svlad hates himself but takes it from him, drinks it again, quicker this time, wanting to get it over with.   _

_ When he finishes, he burps, and it hurts.  _

_ “How ya doin’, kid?”  _

_ “D… dizzy.”  _

_ “There’s a lot of alcohol in those cans. Did you finish it all?”  _

_ He passes the cans over a bit slower than necessary, and Riggins looks inside of it, pulling it away from his face and smiling at Svlad, who barely sees him. His head feels weird. Airy. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.  _

_ He stands up, wobbling slightly and leaning on the table. “No. This- I don’t feel good.”  _

_ “Hmm,” Riggins grunts, jotting something down casually on his notepad. “Svlad, dear boy, tell me- what colour shirt am I wearing under my sweater?”  _

_ Svlad doesn’t hear him. His skin is on fire. His head in wrapped in strings and threads that extend through the walls and through the ceiling- his hand is tattooed with symbols and scribbles he can’t read but knows what they mean, can’t understand them but they’re a feeling etched into him naturally, carved into his essence by a pen made of stars, ink of their fire. It burns, and everything is blurry and spinning.  _

_ “Svlad!” Riggins is shouting, and the ink bleeds off his skin and he looks at the man in front of him, sees him standing perfectly around the fire, untouched and unburned, while Svlad is engulfed in flames that burn but do not hurt him.  _

Everything is connected _ , a voice whispers, and the strings all overlap and touch, all lead to him and to the universe around him. He stands on the string like a tightwire.  _

_ “It’s all connected,” he says to himself, and Riggins hands are on his shoulders, shaking him lightly. Svlad never falls from his rope.  _

_ “What’s connected, boy? What do you see?”  _

_ Svlad throws up on Riggins. He thinks he wants to apologize for a moment before blacking out.  _

 

_ “He’s too young to have drunk that much. We should have paced him better, maybe given him a different type of drink, one that was less strong.”  _

_ Svlad doesn’t recognize the voice. Is it Riggins? He doesn't open his eyes, doesn’t think he can. Doesn’t think he should.  _

_ “He reacted to the alcoholic substances stronger then any  _ normal _ 13 year old. We gave him too much too fast- next time, we’ll be more careful. We don’t know what happened, but something did happen. The kid really is psychic.”  _

_ Svlad doesn’t hear anything after that, or remember anything before it. When he wakes, he only remembers one voice. He thinks it might have been his own.  _

_ Everything is connected.  _

_ Everything is connected.  _

_ Everything-  _

 

-his eyes flit between the two hesitantly, then back to the can, and again to his friends. He tries to sound okay when he takes a deep breath and, quieter then he’d intended, “No, thank you, Todd.” 

Todd nods slowly, not making eye contact with him, and gestures the can towards Farah instead. She smiles politely but shakes her head, so Todd opens in and takes a sip for himself with a small shrug. After swallowing, he lowers the can and looks around himself. “Okay, I needed a drink, though.” 

Farah lets out a breathy chuckle at that, and Todd’s eyes shine as though he’d been given permission. He takes another sip. 

Dirk feels a smile tug at his own lips. These people were  _ amazing.  _

There’s a flushing noise from ahead of the room, and moments later Amanda emerges from the washroom, brushing her hair over her shoulder with one hand. “What’d I miss, losers? Not you, Dirk. Or you Farah, you guys are amazing. Todd’s the loser.” 

“That’s rude,” Todd protests, and Amanda just shrugs. 

  
  


The case ended rather brutally. 

He’d been shot with a harpoon gun-  _ twice- _ and Todd had been electrocuted. 

He’d lied to Todd (he had to, he  _ had  _ to) and Todd had called him a monster. 

He’d been called a monster numerous times in his life, though hearing it again after so long from the mouth of someone he thought was his best friend (but he really messed that up, didn’t he?) made him genuinely believe he was. 

He deserved this. He deserved to be alone again. It was always going to end like this- either he’d be forced along by the universe or the universe would force away everyone else. He deserved nothing less. 

Todd deserved better than him. 

“You up, Icky?” 

Dirk’s eyes turn towards the door, where he sees Martin and the other Rowdies’ heads poking through the door frame. Dirk groans. 

“You’re gonna do the  _ thing? Now?”  _

Martin smiles and enters the hospital room, the others trailing behind. Vogel looked uncertain, if a bit frightened, while both Cross and Gripps were guarded, walking closely to Vogel as though protectively. Martin wore a toothy grin that truely did meet his eyes, and he adjusted the glasses on his face as he edged closer to Dirk. 

“Na,” he says, his voice gravely, and Dirk wonders if his voice had aged since the first time he’d heard it or if it was the same amount of roughness it always was. “Na, we just wanted to come brag ‘bout all the big guys we whacked over the head with bats and sticks. Saved your butt, y’know.” 

Dirk blinks slowly. He doesn’t recall that at all. “Thanks,” he says hesitantly, and Martin pats his leg roughly. Dirk flinches, but either Martin doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because he gives it a second pat before turning away. 

“Uh, w-where might, um, Amanda be?” He asks as they start to turn away.

“She’s parking the van,” he says, never breaking stride. Then they’re gone, leaving Dirk to sit in his hospital bed, confusedly mouthing the words  _ she’s parking the- what?  _

“Dirk!” Amanda yells, and Dirk looks up, surprised to see her there so suddenly. 

“Oh, hello, Amanda,” Dirk smiles tightly, trying to sit up in his bed and failing. Amanda rushes over to him and wraps him in a hug. It stings, but she’s very gentle, and Dirk practically melts into her touch. 

Amanda recants to him what actually went down at springs mansion. At least, her side of the story, which was mostly just fighting. He’s surprised she came out of it all unscathed. 

“Are you okay?” he dares to ask, and Amanda smiles softly. 

“Dirk, you’re the one in the hospital bed.” 

“No, I mean- your pararibulitis, and Todd- are you _ okay?”  _

The hospital room is quiet. Amanda sits down on the side of Dirk’s bed, and Dirk scoots over to give her more room. She looks down at her fists, which are clenched tightly, to the point where it must hurt. After a long moment in which she says nothing, Dirk is about to apologize for bringing it up. 

“No. No, I’m not okay, Dirk,” she says finally, quietly. “What Todd did was…  _ beyond  _ uncool. He really hurt me.” 

She doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t need too, because Dirk understands. Though it hurts, he puts his hand on her shoulder and gives her a gentle smile. 

“I think I really hurt Todd,” he says quietly, and Amanda shrugs. Dirk removes his hand and tries to be serious, but her distance makes him want to smile with amusement. “Amanda, I know what he did to you was… horrible, really. Just awful. But… Todd’s not awful. He really does want to make things better between the two of you. And I… I hurt him, and he’s probably most definitely very seriously mad at me. Though hopefully not as mad as you are at him.” 

Amanda smiles lightly. She twists on the bed to look Dirk better in the eye, and Dirk is forced to move more out of the way for her. “Dirk, if Todd is mad at you, it’s because Todd is an idiot. Don’t beat yourself up over it. You deserve better than that.” 

Dirk involuntarily shrinks down in the bed. 

“Anyway, I’ve got to get going. I’m officially part of the Rowdy 3! Isn’t that awesome? It’s so awesome. I’ll see you again, though, right?” She hops off the bed and hangs in the doorway rather theatrically, and before Dirk can open his mouth, she shoots him sharp, toothy grin and bounds off down the hospital hallway. 

  
  


Todd came back for him. Said he wasn’t a monster. Gave him a t-shirt and now he’s sitting with him, and Farah, talking about his ideal, theoretical detective agency as though it could potentially be more than theoretical. 

Dirk thinks he might die of happiness. 

Then he thinks he might die. 

The universe’s strings pull him out of the diner like a puppet.

Riggins’ goon is there, and god, not  _ now.  _

A cloth is shoved over his mouth from somewhere behind him, and he’s dragged into a car, collapses and wakes up in a room he’s been in before. 

Suddenly, he’s ten all over again. 

  
  


Blackwing is just as horrible as it was sixteen years ago. Only now, he knows what he’s lost. Now, he doesn’t know if he’ll get it back. That’s the difference, isn’t it? That’s what hurts the most. 

He doesn’t know if he’ll get it back. If he’ll get  _ them  _ back. 

_ This isn’t how this works, this isn’t how this works, this isn’t how this works, this isn’t- _

Blackwing is somehow worse than sixteen years ago. 

  
  


The next case should have been happier. It should have been. 

He was back with Todd and Farah and now two new people, two very nice new people, and they were finding real clues to a proper case and Dirk was  _ free.  _

It should have been happier. 

It wasn’t. It really wasn't. 

Dirk was constantly looking over his shoulder, just waiting for Riggins to be standing there, for someone to shove a cloth over his mouth and force him to breathe in and then to lose everything all over again. Because, of course, they’d never let him go. They would find him again. They’d come for him and take him and hurt everybody around him to do it. 

In the back of his mind, he tells himself that it's okay. He deserves to be taken. He deserves Blackwing. 

Look at what he’s done to  _ Todd,  _ for God’s sake. It was  _ his  _ fault. Todd had lost his job, his home, sort of his sister, and gained a mental illness that continuously hurt him  _ because of him.  _

He wasn’t actually sure how Todd’s paralibulius was related to him, but he could feel it was. 

He didn’t know what Farah had to sacrifice for him, but he knew he’d somehow hurt her, too. If he hadn’t yet, he would. 

The Cardinez case is much worse then the last case, because he knows, he  _ sees  _ the way he’s hurting his friends. Some of the only friends he’s ever really had. 

It keeps getting worse, even past that. He tries to stop it. He distances himself from the others, hoping they’ll forget about him, so it would be easier on them when he inevitably loses them again. He doesn’t deserve them, or their help, so he goes off on his own. He tries to solve the case logically, tries to stop relying on the universe, because the universe hurt Todd and won't ever let his past die. 

He still doesn’t understand why Todd kept going after him whenever he tries to save him. Why Todd showed up to the house he spent nearly two hours biking to, why he pushed them through the static door together even though it gave him an attack (Dirk’s fault, Dirk’s fault). He doesn’t understand why Todd wont let him go. 

It somehow terrifies him more then Blackwing taking him. 

Eventually, Dirk just gives up. It’s not just Todd getting hurt because of him. 

Arnold died because of him. Dirk _ killed _ him. 

And then Dirk knows he’s killed Todd, too, because he recognizes the voice of the man chasing them through the same house Todd wouldn’t let Dirk die alone in. Because him being there, at that moment, was all Dirk’s fault. And Todd was going to die because of him. And Farah already had, because there’s no way Priest would have let her live if she was standing between the hunter and his prey. 

Then Priest is gone. 

Or, Dirk and Todd are somewhere else, rather. 

Going back to Blackwing for the third time in his life, this time by  _ choice,  _ is basically a series of running down hallways in fear and dodging bullets flying every which way, unsure if they’re directed at him or not. Most likely not, but he feels very attacked at this moment. He finds Lt. Assientent(god, he hates Blackwing) and is able to distract himself from the bullets and the  _ Blackwing  _ by yelling hysterically about how he isn’t freaking out so  _ you can’t either.  _

The Lieutenant, who continuously- despite literal gunfire- mumbles about just wanting to have met some aliens, man, takes him through the halls, picking up Mona (Mona! God, he missed her. And also, was tempted to be sort of mad at her for sending him away from the boy to begin with, but whatever) and ditching Assientent along the way because honestly, if not for the fact that he worked for Blackwing (“Why did I even take this job? My boss is an idiot!”) then for the fact that his name was beyond stupid and Dirk was bitter. 

Then after hit with shrapnel and shot, crawling his way through a magical portal and learning he’s a tool the universe created to fix it, and a dramatically large revelation he’d have time to ponder on later, Dirk finds himself in the hospital yet again. This time, with Farah, Hobbes, and Tina- all in considerably worse shape than him. 

Dirk hates himself, because the moment they fix up his leg, he pulls Todd into his room. He hates himself for this because Farah is ashy and grey and lost a considerably large amount of blood, and Todd obviously wants to be with her and Tina and Hobbes right now, not him. 

“Firstly-” Dirk starts, ready to apologize, leaning up in his hospital bed as Todd rushes into his room, probably wanting to see what Dirk wants quickly so he can get back to-

“Oh my God, Dirk, are you okay?” Todd asks instead, staring between Dirk’s bandaged leg and patched up shoulder with his eyes wide. “I didn’t get to ask you what happened, what with Farah… T-the doctors said she’ll be okay, she just need to stay here a bit. Tina and Hobbes are okay, too- Hobbes probably got the worst of it all. He’s fine, though, sort of, or at least, he will be,” Todd’s words were rushed, patchy, as though he were struggling to breath through the news. Dirk smiles gently at the man. His care really showed no bounds. 

“Right,” Dirk starts again, trying to make his voice slower, calmer, and watched Todd’s breathing slow down to match Dirk’s unconsciously. “That’s… amazing. I’m really glad to hear that. Truely. I mean, before, I straight up thought Farah was dead, so hearing she is very much not dead just yet is quite a relief. And obviously she’s still in dangerous conditions, so I don’t want to keep you from her for too long, but- but I-” here, Dirk falters, not fully knowing what he wants to say but knowing under the itching of his skin, he has to say something. He swallows, tries again; “We need to go.” 

Todd blinks, then his eyes widen in alarm and exhaustion. “Go? As in, like, right this second right now away from the hospital go?” 

 Dirk lips his lips, “I just- I can’t be here, I don’t know why, I don’t know what’s wrong  _ now,  _ or very much in general, actually. But I really need you to drive me somewhere that is not here,” he practically begs, and Todd nods instantly, ready to accept Dirk’s word just like that. Honestly, Dirk doesn’t deserve him. 

“I don’t know if they’ll release you… early,” he says to himself, then shakes his head, looking around the room before his eyes land on the crutches by his bed. “Here, practise with these for a second, I’ll go figure something out and grab you some pain meds. I’ll be back,” Todd hands him the crutches before practically running out of the room to find an emergency sign out sheet. 

He comes back less than ten minutes later, holding a case of pills and helping Dirk down to the Amboolents. 

“Where do we need to go? Do we need to go far? Do we need to get Farah? I don’t think it’s safe to get Farah,” Todd mumbles, pulling the probably very illegal and definitely suspicious van out of the parking spot they totally did not pay for. 

Dirk sighs. “Not far, I should hope. We just… Can’t be there. Right now. Farah… I don’t know. I’m sure she, and Tina and Hobbes, will all be fine.” 

Todd’s uneasy eyes flitter over to him, but he doesn’t remove his foot from the pedal as he heads down the road in no specific direction. 

The car ride, for a long time is very silent. Dirk doesn’t pitch in on directions, and Todd doesn’t ask for any. They just drive, away from the hospital (from Farah, from Farah), and say nothing. 

At least, until Todd watches Dirk pop a pain med in his mouth and seems to finally think of something to say. 

“Are… you doing okay, Dirk?” he asks, and Dirk doesn’t look at him, sinking into his uncomfortable and certainly not up to code chair. 

He isn’t certain how long it takes before he finally responds, considering every thought in his brain seems to speak up at once.  _ Am I okay?  _ He thinks to himself, exhaustion making the thought come out slow and loud,  _ I don’t know. I don't know. I don’t know.  _

“I…” he starts finally, or maybe just seconds later, “it’s complicated. I’m sorry, Todd. I know I’ve been… difficult, to handle lately. It’s just…” 

When Dirk doesn’t continue, Todd sighs. “You don’t want to lose this. Right? You’re… worried Blackwing will take you again, because they’ve taken you before.” 

Dirk looks out the car window. “I’m worried they’ll hurt you, Todd, when they do take me. You and Farah both caused such a ruckus when they… you know, so, they probably would hurt you to get to me, if they have to. They might hurt you even if they don’t. He’s- _ they’ve _ done it before.” 

The car pulls to a stoplight, and Todd stares at Dirk, his expression unreadable. 

“Dirk, Farah is like, a one-woman army. And she taught me how to use a gun. We can handle ourselves, and they- they won’t get you. Not… again, okay? We won’t let them.” 

Dirk painfully meets Todds eyes to find cold determination burning behind clouded green irises.

“We can go back now,” Dirk says, instead of the numerous other things he wants to say. 

Todd turns the car around hastily. The rest of the ride is quiet until they pull back into the parking lot, and Todd parks the car, helping him out and directing him back into the building. 

“I’ll be back soon, okay? I’m just going to go check on Farah and the others,” he informs Dirk, leaving him in the car of an unimpressed nurse who helps him back in his bed. 

_ They won’t get you. Not… again. _

The words swam through Dirk’s head, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Itching his skin until it turns red, he waits for Todd to come back anxiously. He doesn’t know why he had to get out- the universe simply shoved him out the door and into the Amboolents without a second thought for Farah, who Dirk felt horrible about having to leave. At least Todd was with her now, as determined as he was to get back to her. 

“Good call with the sudden dash and ditch,” Todd calls as he enters the room, and Dirk pulls his nails away from his skin and looks up at the appearance of his friend. 

“Are they okay? Tina and Hobbes and-” 

“Farah, ya, they’re all okay. But… Blackwing was here. They made them sign some confidentiality papers. Farah’s still… pretty out of it, I guess, so she didn’t read it word for word and then word for word again, y’know, like she normally would. Hobbes did, though- he said it was just to keep them quiet. I don’t think they were after you. But… it’s a good thing we weren’t here, just in case,” Todd finishes, watching Dirk carefully, as though scared he would say something that would set him off. 

Dirk, however, just looked tired. 

“They know I’m signed in here, Todd, or they wouldn’t have come,” he says quietly, and Todd looks at a loss. 

“Ya,” he starts slowly, “maybe. But you’re still here. And… so am I.” 

Dirk smiles lightly, and means it. 

 

_ “Why did I even take this job?” he whines, rubbing the gunshot wound that clipped the side of his head. Gun fire surrounds him. He, too, is holding a gun. He points it up, his hand steady, aimed at darkness. Another gunshot sounds close behind him, and a woman screams, and a man cries, and a child is silent. He spins around, aiming the gun at the memories, and fires blindly.  _

_ It strikes against nothing, causing the darkness to crack open and shards to fall. He can see his reflection, in a shard. His face is bleeding, a perfect vertical line dripping, his eyes wild and dangerous.  _

_ “I just wanted to see some aliens, man,” a voice that isn’t his leaves a face that’s not on his body, and he raises the gun again, shoots the shard. The chip burns instead of shattering, and through the flame is his reflection, his real reflection, his real face.  _

_ “What colour is the shirt under my sweater?” he asks himself. Then he grins a large, galactic grin. “Is it  _ red? 

_ He’s in the Cardinez house. His eyes are still wet, and Priest was there which means Farah is dead, Farah is still dead, and it’s still his fault, no matter where he was.  _

_ “Farah is  _ dead _ , Todd,” he tries not to cry.  _

_ “That wasn’t your fault,” Todd whispers, and Dirk wonders if he still means it or if he’s just a broken record, now.  _

_ More gunfire around him. Suddenly, silence. He looks up, and there is no sky, but there is blue. And red, and pink, and stars, and light, and strings, and fire, and- oh.  _

_ Mr. Priest is standing just ahead of him. But he’s not looking at him, now- he’s looking at Svlad, the little boy with blood on his clothes and tears in his eyes, but not down his cheeks, never down his cheeks. Dirk watches as Svlad curls into himself on the floor, protecting his body from an attack he’s waiting to launch.  _

_ “You said you could help me,” Svlad chokes out, and suddenly Mr. Priest is Riggins, who is leaning down to Svlad’s level and tilting his head up softly. _

_ “My dear boy,” Riggins whispers, looking so much younger than he was, “We’re doing the best we can with what we have. We don’t know what you are, or how you do what you do. We don’t know anything about you. That’s why we’re doing this. That’s why you don’t have an option, kid.”  _

_ “But you said you could  _ help  _ me,” Svlad cries, “my… my parents, they…”  _

_ Riggins looks sad, for a moment, and Svlad’s head is ducked- but Dirk can see Riggins’ eyes and the lies dancing in them. “I’m… sorry, about what Priest did to them. It was unnecessary and unordered, in the end, but… you’re here now. I never lied, Svlad. We want to help you. We want to understand you.”  _

_ Dirk finally speaks up. “You want to help me or you want to understand me?” Dirk yells, hands clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms and feeling no pain, not like the pain in his chest, his heart. Svlad’s eyes travel up to his now, and in those eyes, Dirk can see the edge of the universe. He swallows, prying his eyes away, towards Riggins. “You can’t do both and you don’t want to do either. You want to  _ control  _ me.” _

_ Riggins smiles. It’s no longer a lie. He’s really smiling. It’s horrifying, really.  _

_ “Svlad,” he sighs whimsically, and it’s not Riggins’ voice anymore, “it’s time to come out from under the bed.” He’s covered in blood. It’s not Riggins’ face anymore. The smile is worse.  _

“Priest,” Dirk whines, and Mr. Priest frowns sarcastically. 

_ “That’s Mr. Priest, Svlad. Can I call you Svlad? Or do you prefer me to call you what you are.”  _

Dirk’s breathing suddenly stops. “No…” 

_ “Monster.”  _

“Dirk?” 

_ “Monster,” Svlad parrots from the floor, the tears finally reaching out like hands to caress his own face.  _

“Dirk!” 

The cold hands on his shoulders, shaking him gently but intensely, finally find their way to Dirk’s skin. Dirk gasps at the cold touch that grounds him, and his eyes, open violently. Reacting purely on instinct, Dirk grabs the hands and shoves them away, seconds later realizing they were too calloused and small to be Mr. Priest’s. He reaches out for a dog that isn’t there, and when his hands fall on nothing, he knows something doesn’t add up. 

Trying to steady his breathing, he sits up in his bed-  _ oh. Dreaming. This is just a hotel room. And…  _

Todd. Todd, who is standing over him, eyes wide and concerned. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, even though it’s Dirk who is slowly putting two and two together and realizing he’d had a nightmare and had just shoved Todd, who was trying to wake him up, away rather rudely. “Dirk?” Farah says from Dirk’s side, and he sees her sitting on the edge of her own bed, ready to spring up a moment’s notice. Right. Yes, hotel room, Todd and Farah sharing a bed, both probably woken up by- 

“Oh. I woke you,” he says dumbly, and Todd is still watching him like he didn’t trust himself to be helpful, and Farah standing up. She moves slowly, like approaching a wounded animal, but her face in nochelaunt. 

“’s okay. We were having trouble sleeping, anyway,” she says calmly, tiredly, directing her words to Todd. Todd relaxes his frame at her words and nods slowly. 

Dirk lets out a shaky breath and groans as he feels his leg start to pound. 

“Here,” Todd offers, somehow already holding out painkillers, which Dirk takes without a second thought and swallows. Todd begins to open a different bottle, pouring some out and handing them to Farah, who smiles lightly and takes two of the three offered pills. 

Waiting for them both to finish swallowing, Todd sits down on the edge of Dirk’s bed. “Do… you want to, uh. Talk about it?” he asks lightly, and Dirk thinks for a moment before sighing. 

“My… dream,” he says slowly, not really asking, knowing fully well that that’s what he meant. Todd nods, slowly, like he’s not rushing him. 

He was so lucky to have these people. These two, beautiful people, both sitting on the edge of their beds, out of their comfort zones and willing to ask, anyway. He was certain Farah had never been this close to anyone but her brother, Mr. Spring, and Todd, who also seemed pretty isolated since his band fell apart and Amanda just barely made up with him. He was so lucky to have these two, beautiful, uncomfortable, loving people in his life. 

“I get these weird dreams, sometimes,” Dirk says quietly, and Farah moves herself over to his bed, sitting next to Todd. “Not often. Not as often anymore, anyway. Sometimes they’re just memories. Sometimes they’re more.” 

The hotel is small, cramped, and cheap. They wanted to stay low-key, since they didn’t exactly earn a wage with their last case. The hospital bills, to the extent of Dirk’s knowledge, had been paid for by Blackwing (“part of the forms they made Farah sign explained that her injuries were a tie to what happened,” Todd had explained to him from what Hobbes had made of the disclosures. He sounded apologetic while he broke it down for a slightly loopy Dirk, and if Dirk weren’t about to pass out from painkillers and stress, he might have freaked out more; “They paid yours off, too, though.”) 

Together, though, his two friends on the edge of his harsh, probably dirty hotel bed- it was nice. It was safety from Blackwing, who wanted to shut him up, to silence him, to study him. 

He knew it was probably Ken that had sent over the papers. He seemed like the kind of guy who would subtly apologize for shooting you in the leg, but wouldn’t care enough to have not shot you in the leg to begin with. He wondered if Bart knew her best friend, the one she’d been desperately searching (and killing) to find, was now one of the head powers of the government facility she most like grew up in, just like him. 

He hoped she didn’t. 

“So… your dreams have happened, then?” Todd asks, his voice no longer small and out of its depth. He sounded like he was simply asking Dirk what they should eat for breakfast. 

Dirk nods, then shakes his head, then nods again, then shrugs. “Yeeea. Yes. I mean, it’s all, to some degree, happened to me. But it’s  _ scrambled _ and-” he takes a deep breath, “it’s memories from when I was ten mixed with memories form just a few days ago mixed with faces of people I remember and people I saw recently and. I don’t really remember it, to be honest. They’re not all like this,” he scratches his arms, “when I first got out of Blackwing, they were really clear. Very painful, super recent, nice and relevant nightmares. Now, it’s just a reminder that I was  _ politely  _ kidnapped when I was a kid.” 

At Farah and Todd’s rapidly opening mouths, Dirk recitifies his statement;  “I asked the kidnappers to come kidnap me, technically. I was the polite one.” 

“You…” Farah starts, trailing off. Dirk rubs his eyes, very tired. 

“I thought they could help me. My parents, they- they were so  _ scared _ of me, and they wouldn’t let me go to school because they thought I would- I would follow the universe into something that got those around me, the- the  _ children  _ around me, hurt. And Riggins showed up one day, and offered me a choice, and-” he sighs, tries his best, “I took him up on his offer. Went to go with him willingly, actually. But my parents wouldn’t let me. They- they still loved me, they just didn’t know what I was or if I still their son. But they- they tried to fight for me, saw something under Riggins’ facade I didn’t at my age. So he- Riggins- sent someone to take me by force.” 

Todd looks… Dirk doesn’t know, actually. Sad?  _ Dangerous? _ “Dirk, you did  _ not  _ ask for that,” he says, then, realizing Dirk was too stubborn to listen, changed route; “that man… was he Priest?” 

Dirk looks down. “Mr. Priest,” he corrects, almost against his will. Todd seems to steady himself before continuing. 

“When you were asleep, you said his name, and… he was at the Cardinez’s house, right? He’s the guy who knocked Farah out,” he confirms to himself, and Farah nods bitterly, clearly recalling the situation. 

“Yes. That’s him. He’s… killed a lot of people. Not just my parents. Sometimes I wonder if… he killed a part of me, maybe. Or if the universe did that on its own. Or why things happened the way they did, even though I know they’d never work out any other way,” he confided quietly. “I hadn’t been thinking about it until Riggins showed up back at the Ridgely, but just knowing that they’re still out there…” 

“Wait- the Ridgely? As in Todd’s old apartment the Ridgely?” Farah asks, letting go of Todd’s hand and leaning more into the bed. Even Todd’s eyes went wide at this admission. 

Dirk nods. “Riggins and Friedkin- the guy who took over for him- were there. They asked me if I wanted to come back to Blackwing. Of course, I told them a very solid and unwavering ‘no’, but though they left me to that decision, I knew that Riggins must have landed himself in some kind of trouble if he’d wanted me to come back and had actually had the nerve to  _ ask _ for me to come back.” 

Farah looks furious. “That  _ monster,”  _ she spits out, and both Dirk and Todd flinch, “actually came to you- and you didn’t tell anybody?” 

Dirk opens his mouth defensively, but having no defense, closes it again. He didn’t know if he was supposed to apologize. 

Instead of responding, he leans back against the wall, wincing as it pulls his leg. He was exhausted. Looking around him, he could see they all were. Todd looked a mixture of trying not to fall asleep and trying to find the right words. Finally, he seems to find his footing. “Dirk, I- I’m sorry about, um, what I said. Back in Wendimoor. About… how Blackwing didn’t raise you properly.” 

Farah’s eyes snap to his in shock, but Todd is looking straight at Dirk, who starts to shake his head. 

“Todd-” 

“No. No, it’s not okay, Dirk. I was freaking out and stressed and- none of that is an excuse. I’m… sorry. And, um, also, back with Patrick Spring when I called you a monster. Farah’s right. Mr. Priest is the monster.  _ Not  _ you.” 

Dirk’s eyes, which were already tearing up, start to blur his vision

Todd and Farah both get up from the bed and curl up on either side of Dirk. Farah pulls him into a side hug as they lean against the wall, and Todd comes up on the other side, resting his head on Dirk’s shoulder gently. 

Gently. 

“I love you guys,” Dirk mumbles, and Farah squeezed tighter, and he thinks he hears Todd sniffle next to him. “You know, it's things like this that made me change my name.” 

Farah starts to sag next to him, and Dirk knows she took stronger meds than him, and is probably much more tired than he is. Still, she makes the effort to look at him and ask; “How so?” 

“I chose Dirk because it was a weapon; it was a test I had to repeat numerous times in Blackwing, and I made it into something of my own, something that wasn’t theirs. A weapon used to fight to freedom, I suppose. A bit cheesy when I say it now, I suppose, but… Gently came from just this. Just… I needed something gentle in my life. You guys are… quite possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

Todd definitely sniffled, that time. Dirk is sure of it. 

The three of them slowly slink down from leaning against the wall to, in a sense, spooning each other on the small, hotel bed. They lay there, all for a long while in a peaceful, beautiful silence. 

Then, Todd asks, “what did your name used to be?” 

He’s heard it before, Dirk knows. Maybe he’s forgotten, or because it was a bite, an insult at the time; maybe he doesn't want to remember it. Not like that. 

Dirk hums peacefully as he feels sleep offer to take his hand, surrounded by his two best friends, at quite possibly the best moment of his life. 

“Svlad,” he hasn’t said that name in years, has only heard it in his own ears, has never owned it, even when it was his name.

It was time, he supposes, Todd and Farah laying text to him, the back corner of the universe spinning somewhere all around them. It was time to claim himself again.

“My name is Dirk Gently,” he closes his eyes, on the verge of a dreamless sleep. “But it used to be Svlad Cjelli.”

**Author's Note:**

> :') kudo n comment pls i loev y'all thanks for reading feed a ho by leaving a holler


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